


Flickered

by ellethom



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: And a time out, And peace, Broken television, F/M, Flicker, Friday Flash Fic, Gen, someone needs a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 23:09:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13421589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellethom/pseuds/ellethom
Summary: Sometimes, you just gotta know how to put out a fire, even if the one is in your own house.





	Flickered

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Isola_Caramella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isola_Caramella/gifts).



> Friday Flash fic should be a regular thing! Love this idea and thanks for the challenge, Isola, I love you, and I hope this makes you laugh.

“You broke it, now fix it!” She screamed at the idiot she had somehow, through lack of better judgement, had decided to marry.

Hands in pockets, Jaime turned to look at the 60 inch flat screen television, flanked by two screaming three year olds. “I don’t...” he tried, but the woman yelling at him was more than stressed, twins will do that to a person he supposed. “I don't know what I did.”

She stood at the door to the family room, with a spatula in one hand, wielded as if the fabled others were ready to break through the door at any moment. “I have had three days of no sleep, two doctor’s appointments that resulted in shots, Jaime. Shots.” She growled. “I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday morning, I have been holding my pee for three hours.”

“I didn’t--” He said. “You shouldn’t…”

“And potty training Jaime, I have been with them for two days, do you know how many boxes of Cheerios I have been through?”

“Brienne, I didn’t break--” He should have known better, this was her second pregnancy, he should have just stayed quiet and admitted defeat.

“You walk in, bang on the television, and now I can’t even finish dinner. The only thing that keeps them from raging.” Brienne pointed at the two, still screaming, toddlers, then the television, then him. “Is that damn movie.” Brienne’s face turned into a mask of something similar to the fifth hour of labor which, he recalled, with great fear. “Fix the television, make it stop flickering so they can watch The Incredibles, or, I swear to all the Gods, you will never know pleasure again.”

He assessed the situation, he was good at that. He was a firefighter, after all, hells, the Fire Chief. He could run into burning buildings when all and sundry with an iota of common sense would run out of the inferno. The television was indeed flickering through frames of a movie he could only assume was the long lauded Incredibles. The boys' favorite movie. They always lost it at Jack Jack Attack and ran around the room trying to reenact the maneuver.

And yet, the look in his overwhelmed, overtaxed and over pregnant wife made him wish for a fire. He had just come off his three-day rotation at the station, he knew she was tired, and he also knew he was the prime candidate for that irritation.

It was, after all, all his fault she was pregnant. Again.

Silently, he reached for jackets and car keys. “I got this.” he said, fatigued but grateful for her. Always grateful. “I’m going to take the hoodlums out, feed them something that will make them tired, then take them to the park so they can run off the rest of their energy. Maybe pick up a new tv on the way.” He even batted his eyelashes at the dangerous woman in front of him. “Anything else?” he asked, hoping divorce was not one of the requests. 

“Ice cream, not for them.” she pointed the spatula at the twins again. “And Cheerios. Two more boxes.”

He nodded and gathered the two blond boys onto the couch. “Anything else?” he asked once the boys were a decibel quieter and now excited about a trip.

She lowered her weapon as he wrangled the two blondes into jackets and shoes. “Yeah,” she said with a nod, the spatula resting over her five-month belly. “A kiss.”

He stood from his task, smiling. “Always,” he said.


End file.
